


Nevermore

by Maple33



Series: Oneshots and Drabbles: Markiplier Egos [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), youtube - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, F/M, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I kind of wrote this VERY DARK, Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe, Mark Fischbach Needs a Hug, Mark fishbach - Freeform, Not Beta Read, Post-Who Killed Markiplier?, Sad, WKM, Who Killed Markiplier?, like v sad, we die like men (or something like that lmao), your welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23460868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple33/pseuds/Maple33
Summary: Some people would like silence to think. Not Mark. No sane person would want to think about anything after a divorce.
Relationships: Celine | The Seer/Mark Fischbach
Series: Oneshots and Drabbles: Markiplier Egos [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1433551
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Nevermore

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ THIS!!
> 
> In this book, there are excessive/ addictive Alcohol drinking and depression. IF that isn't your cup of tea, then PLEASE STOP reading this one-shot. I don't want anybody at home to be triggered, okay? 
> 
> !!READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

**Angst [Actor!Mark]**

Mark filled up his glass with wine. His black, disheveled hair sat upon his head. He was tired, so very tired. His eyes slowly opened and closed, everything was almost a haze. To his left sat a book, opened and left on page one hundred and thirty three-- the top left corner bent to save his page. His room was silent, the only sound was that of the wine filling his cup. And guess what?

He hated it.

Some people would like silence to think. Not Mark. No sane person would want to think about anything after a divorce. Not after a particular wife who went behind her husband's back and cheated with the husband's best friend. Mark had considered him as a friend! _Nevermore_ would he think of William as a friend. 

Words can't even say how much Mark even hates the very thought of that man. Mark sat down the glass of wine that he was filling up onto his bedside table and picked up the entire bottle. He looked at it for a second, thinking and then started chugging the wine. The wine hit the back of his throat and left a burning trail. Despite the blazing fire in his mouth, he kept on chugging, his focus on making him drunk and pass out. 

It was hard living with himself in Markiplier Manor. Sure, Chef and Benjamin were there but Mark avoided them. He didn't want to see any of their _pity_.

Once he had his 'full' of the drink, he sat down the glass bottle and licked his lips to catch any drops left behind. Mark then shifted in his silken blankets and picked up his book, starting where he left off: 

_Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,_

_Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;_

_But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,_

_And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"--_

The sound of someone knocking startled Mark out of his book. The book of poems fell to the wooden floor with a loud THUNK. "That's probably Chef or Benjamin tapping at the door," Mark muttered to himself, "...it's rather strange to hear someone at this hour." He looked over to the clock to confirm the time and it was well past one in the morning. Mark slowly started to stand, his whole body feeling like lead. Once he stood, the blankets fell to his feet, exposing his lower body to the coldness in his room. He didn't mind the cold. After all, it was one step closer to death's door.

"Benjamin?" Mark's gravelly voice crowed out, his body feeling more and more tired. 

No one had answered. 

Mark asked for Benjamin again, hoping deep down in his broken, mangled heart that he was there. But just like the time before, no one answered. 

Mark mumbled something to himself and sat back down on his bed, the sheets fluttering. Of course no one was there. No one ever was. He then picked back up his book and opened the page to read it, until he was interrupted by another knock. Why must someone be playing games with him? He was tired. He didn't want to get up anymore.

The knocking became more frantic, it's echo in the room putting on edge even more. Mark threw off his book and blankets and walked over to the door, calling himself an idiot inside of his head. Mark's hand gripped the door handle, his heart thumping madly. What if... Could it be **Celine**? Had she finally come back to Mark, begging for his forgiveness?

The rapid knocking on the door suddenly stopped.

No, no, it couldn't be her. Celine said it herself: she wouldn't come back. 

Curtains that hung from Mark's bedroom window flapped in the cold wind. Mark immediately let go of the handle and faced the window. How did he forget that his window was open? He walked over to the curtains and opened them so that he could reach the window. Although it was early September, there were already flurries that were falling to the ground. He stared out his window. His yard was dead and barren of any life. Even the sky was a dull grey color. The only color outside was the evergreens but, even they looked dull and grim.

Mark slammed the window shut, his emotions mixed with grief and brashness. He didn’t even bother to close the curtains, his future self could deal with them later. For now, all that he wanted was a drink. He went back over to his bedside and grabbed the bottle. He gently shook the bottle to see if there was any sort of liquor left but, alas, there was none. Mark then turned to the glass that he had poured, only that was empty too. Mark’s frown deepened. Maybe there was something tucked away somewhere in his room. All around Mark’s bedroom, there’s bottles upon bottles of empty booze. Some were tucked underneath his bed while others were just piled on the sides of the corners and on top of his bookshelf. 

Mark sighed and had gotten up off of his hands and knees. The only other place where any type of beer or wine would be in the cellar. He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing once more. “Well, no time like the present… ha ha,” Mark muttered to himself as he walked back up to his door. He immediately opened it and was met by darkened hallways. As Mark was walking towards his personal wine cellar, unimaginable thoughts whispered in his mind. They caressed him oh so gently, saying, “Aren’t you tired?” Or, “Haven’t you had enough?” Mark slightly welcomed those thoughts, merely teasing at their ideas. As he was almost to the cellar, he stopped by a hallway mirror. At the time, he didn’t know that something was influencing him to look at the mirror.

Like an ignorant **fool** , Mark gazed into the looking glass.

It was like he was transported into a different dimension. Everything around him had no color, it was all non-chromatic. There was little to no light anywhere-- it was like he stepped into an upside down version of his world. “The upside down?” Mark mumbled, his eyes darting everywhere to take it all in, “...No. What a stupid name.” He took the time to see what this new world had done to his body and, it didn’t really do that much physically. It was just 50 different shades of grey. Mentally however, was truly a different story.

Throughout his entire life, Mark always thought what true suffering was like. Apparently, he was w̬̜̼̣̺̣̔͛̅͂̕r̵̛̙̻̼̦̘͉̉̈́̑̈o̵̧͎͓̯̯̯̮̽̅͐̓̌͜͢͡n̡̡͈̬͕̝̥̩͇̽͒͗̀̈̿̕͠g̹̤̰̼̲̘̬̳̺̐̋̏̏̆̍͘̚ͅ.

* * *

Mark woke up on the cellar floor, a hand clutching the bottle of wine that his grubby hands had gotten last night. The bottle was empty and just like the bottle, so was he. He was tired of feeling betrayed, of feeling broken. He wanted to be loved and adored again. It was like he wanted to be… “A hero,” Mark breathed. He wanted to be a hero. Heroes defeat the villain, right? Mark laughed, his voice cracking. He needed a villain-- no. He needed to create one.

He would be considered the villain **Nevermore**.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, howdy. I never thought I would be posting another story over here because of how lazy I am but, here we are. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for not posting a whole lot on this platform and I'm going to try to post something every other week. 
> 
> The other main reason is because, I haven't hit the gold mine of 'inspiration'. So, this one-shot may have been shoddy. I'm not really going to apologize for that because, I can't blame myself for not having inspiration.
> 
> P.M.A: Please remember to wash your hands for twenty seconds (or sing the tune happy birthday). If you are sick, stay indoors for two weeks!! 
> 
> All of you are loved <3!!


End file.
